


Art Therapy

by laridian



Category: Fallout 76
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Illustrations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: An experimental work: I handmade a journal and am writing in it in-character as my Vault 76 resident Willow Ironwood. Those images are in the chapters, which are transcribed for text-to-speech readers, and include more story surrounding each diary entry.The story itself: MODUS tasks Willow with "art therapy" while in recovery, and to keep a record of his travels in Appalachia afterward. Willow is not 100% enthused about this, but he wants to stay on MODUS' good side.
Relationships: Beckett/Male Resident
Comments: 13
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

[ ](https://laridian.smugmug.com/Fallout76/n-zSwjS4/i-4sRQPMC/A)

Willow turned the book over in his hands. It didn’t look like any book he’d ever seen before. It looked… really, really handmade. Like someone got desperate and made their own book.

Which, Mo said, is what it was. “One of the hotel staff made it, I believe. Sort of a… hobby, shall we say, that she indulged in.”

“Where’s she now?” Willow asked. He opened it up and looked at the pages. It was a weird assortment.

“People left the hotel on New Year’s Eve, 2078,” Mo said. “She likely went with them.”

“So… why give this to me?” Willow liked books, some books anyway, the adventures and mysteries.

Mo paused before responding. “It’s something for you to do while you recover here. You may find it useful to record your experiences. Or, if something… happens to you, it will allow those who find you to know what, in fact, happened.”

Willow didn’t like that concept; but he supposed it was something to do, after all. Even with the medical equipment here, it would still be a few days, from the sound of it.

“There are… pens and other supplies available,” Mo continued. “Art therapy is alleged to be useful as well.”

Arts and crafts too? Willow took a deep breath. “I think I’ll pass for now.”

~ ~ ~

Two days later Willow sent for the pens and other artsy-fartsy stuff, because there were no holotapes here, nor interesting books, and he was going out of his mind with boredom. He had no intention of telling Beckett about any of this. He’d just do this until he had to leave, then get on with his life.

He filled in the basic information – where he lived, his name – and it took a while to think of what to write after that. He leafed through the stuff the Handy had provided, which included some hotel and Vault-Tec stuff as well as cat and dog stickers and smiley faces. Eesh, no.

“Where’d the Vault-Tec stuff come from?” Willow asked Mo.

“From here.”

Willow found a couple of those to stick in (God, Beckett would never let him live this down. Frickin’ _art therapy_ ) and that gave him an idea what to write.

_Mo says I shoud write in this. That it is important. I am stuck here a while so o.k._

_I am from Vault 76 and should still be there. I was born there and on Reclamation Day we were all kicked out. I don’t understand why._

If this was supposed to make him feel better, it wasn’t working. It made him angrier.

_Overseer lied to us and so did Vault Tec. I think most people from 76 are dead now? We were kicked out 23 Oct 2102 which is right before winter. Told to split up and rebuild america. I never knew America how can I rebuild it?_

_We had nothing and no training and I hate Outside. I think Overseer and Vault Tec just wanted us to die maybe. Im still here even if its been hard sometimes. But if I find a working Vault Im going in. Beckett doesnt know how good it can be in a Vault. I think hell like it._

That was enough for now, Willow decided. Now he just wanted to shoot things, preferably whoever decided to send Vault Dwellers out to die.


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](https://laridian.smugmug.com/Fallout76/n-zSwjS4/i-cxfRSnv/A)

Willow slept poorly during the night, was sullen during the morning, and Mo didn’t talk to him until the afternoon.

“And what is the problem today?” Mo asked.

“I don’t get what’s special about writing in a handmade book,” Willow said. “And I’m bored.”

“I thought you’d enjoy being in the closest thing to a Vault since you left yours,” Mo said thoughtfully.

“I… I do, Mo. It’s safe here, and the food’s just like at home. But even in the Vault, there was stuff to do. Holotapes or VR or books or comics. People to talk to.”

“I thought you had none of those at your current home.”

“I’ve got a few tapes, and books, and Beckett’s there.”

“Perhaps you should write for him,” Mo suggested.

Willow almost rolled his eyes. “Beckett can’t read.”

“Then you would have to read for him.”

Willow grimaced. He really just wanted to get out of here, but his leg wasn’t healed back yet. Something about regrowing the bone, was how he understood it. Until there was a bone in there again, he wasn’t going anywhere. “…Fine,” he said at last. What was there to write about this time?

Willow rifled through the drawer of stuff again. It was, literally, a drawer, from a dresser, filled to the top with paper stuff. Willow had made some paper airplanes, drawn mustaches on the magazine covers and all the ads, and otherwise amused himself, but now he supposed he’d better get back to this diary thing.

He pulled out a magazine and leafed through it again. Okay, some ads for foods… man, he missed those. He missed everything about the Vault.

He could add some pictures, he supposed. Stuff from the magazines, or whatever.

Willow took up the book and pen again.

_01 March 2103 Mo says I should put the date so I will know if I look back at this._

_I almost died the first week out of 76. I found a town and stayed there for a while. Nobody was alive there. But they had been. I think it was Flatwood? There was food thou and beds but lots of dead people. But dead people are o.k. with people taking their stuff._

This felt like being back in school and having to write about “a memorable thing in my life” when everyone in the whole class had been born in the Vault and there really wasn’t anything that memorable to talk about.

_I got cloths and armor and food and guns and bullets. Cloths is a_

Willow paused. He didn’t know how to spell “weird” correctly. He tried a couple of times and gave up.

_~~we wi wei~~ funny word. Sounds like “cloze”. I dont miss Vault school ha!_

Another pause. What else was he supposed to write about?

_Flatwood is where I took my new name Ironwood._

Yeah, he should’ve changed it from Willow, too, but he hadn’t and truth be told, he didn’t mind the name so much. Ironwood sounded more badass though.

Willow stuck some pictures from the magazine ads onto the next page, because it talked about employment and Communism and none of that mattered any more, and also a dried out plant.

_These are o.k._

He added an arrow pointing to the Dandy Apples box.

_I miss food from home. Hard to know what plants are o.k. to eat. Like this one. ???_

Then part of an ad from Sugar Bombs. _These are good! My favrite thing to find now._

There. That was two pages. Willow closed the book. He was going to go stir crazy long before his leg would be better. Maybe he could ask Mo if a Handy could be sent out to look for holotapes or books.


	3. Talking With MODUS

[ ](https://laridian.smugmug.com/Fallout76/n-zSwjS4/i-Hc7sw5m/A)

Turned out, if you were bored enough, arts and crafts were interesting.

Willow got some fabric scraps out of the drawer, and pasted those in over the discussion about Fascism and something about “Christian Conservative parties”, because the fabrics looked neat. Then he did a sort of collage thing, and finally remembered he was supposed to write in here, except this set of pages didn’t have much space for that.

Writing essays had never been Willow’s strong suit, and letters weren’t necessary in the confines of a Vault. Emails, sure. But he hadn’t had to do many of those, either.

Beckett must be worrying pretty bad by now. Willow doodled a rocket-gun and wrote “PEW PEW” alongside it.

_02 Mar 2013 Right out of the Vault a lot of people got killed and everyone shot at everyone else. This is wly I say Vault Tec wanted us to die. They set it all up. Overseer is part of it._

“Do you really think that?” Mo asked, when he talked to Willow later.

“Yeah, I do. It’s bugging me, Mo. I don’t think I should trust her, when I see her again.”

“Indeed, setting up a Vault to repopulate the nation is a noble and good cause. But the complete lack of preparation you describe is at odds with that. Do you anticipate you’ll see her again?”

“Probably. She left holotapes around and I think I’m supposed to try to meet up with her at some point.”

“Are you now. Where was this, the last time you heard from her?”

“Well, it was holotapes…” Willow thought back, and recited where he’d found each one.

“Thank you,” Mo said, when Willow was finished. “It could be valuable to know what her plans are. She obviously has plans of some kind, to leave the tapes where someone was expected to find them.”

“Probably screwing us over if we do get anything rebuilt,” Willow muttered, then winced.

“What is wrong?”

“My leg hurts still. It’s been hurting all day, off and on.” Willow wanted to rub it, but apparently that would be bad.

“That’s a good sign,” Mo said. “It means the bone is regrowing properly. Would you like something for the pain?”

“Yeah, I would. Thanks, Mo.”

Afterward, Willow took up the book again and read what he’d last written. There was still a little room left. _Told Mo where she last was. (Mo asked.)_

The painkiller was fast-acting, at least, but boy did it make him sleepy. _Resting again._ Then he added _Miss you_., set the book aside and settled himself to sleep.


	4. Charleston Place on Dundas Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Willow picks up a traveling companion while waiting out the rain.

_08 MAR 2013 Healed up now and have to get home. Mo said to take this and some pens and keep writing and bring this back when I am here again._

“I don’t know…” Willow looked at the handmade book in his hands.

“You can leave here,” Mo said. “You are able to see and experience what’s happening.”

“Yeah, but…” Willow had to admit that a book made more sense. It wasn’t as likely to get completely destroyed by water, it wasn’t bulky like a terminal, and after all, he couldn’t type into his Pipboy. Holotapes required a recorder, which again, those weren’t convenient to carry around. “I don’t think there’s anything really interesting to write about.”

“Perhaps you will surprise yourself. If it serves no other purpose, it may remind you of information when you revisit next. Memories can be fragile things, or strongly resilient; but written records are best.”

Willow couldn’t argue with that.

“Please * take * these * with * you,” a Protectron said, and lumbered up carrying a battered small kitbag. Willow set down the book so he could take it.

“It’s the remainder of the… stationery supplies,” Mo said. “They are of little use here, and you… may find a use for them.”

Willow wasn’t sure about all the craft stuff, but the magazines might be worth something even with mustaches drawn all through them. And the pens were colorful. If there was one thing Willow liked, it was color.

His leg was back to normal, maybe even better than before, and it was high time to get back to the New Gad lakebed and see Beckett again. Willow packed the book away, hitched up his rucksack, and picked up the suitcase. He’d have to scavenge all the way back, too, because they’d need the caps.

~ ~ ~

Willow added _OUTSIDE SUCKS_ to that page around noon, after getting chased by giant bloodthirsty ticks, and a sketch of an eyebot with the note _How do they fly?_.

~ ~ ~

_Not sure how much worth there is to this but I want to come back there. and maybe MO will let us stay here next winter?_

_I guess its possible_

That word just didn’t look right.

_that we will have to be Outside again but I dont like it._

Willow found it best to just choose a different pen (or, as now, pencil) whenever he wrote. It might be a pretty long time between, but he’d do it. If he didn’t, and Mo letting them stay there for the winter was hooked to keeping this diary thing, then, well. Better to write.

_Stopping for the night because cant get across ghoul valley before dark. Upstairs in an old residential stack. Why didnt we move in here. You can tell peple lived here before the plague. So its safe._

Willow hadn’t drawn a cat since he was little, but he thought he got the gist of it.

_There is a cat here but I dont know what it wants. Its black and white. Maybe it lived here?It miyowed a while and left. Time to sleep. (real beds here)_

Cats ate mice and fish, right? And milk? Well, there were probably mice around here. Or giant roaches. Willow shuddered. If the cat was here, probably it was eating any vermin in the place, which meant none were likely to bug him (ha ha) while he slept. Safe indeed.

But not as safe as a Vault or the camp back home. He should make double time tomorrow, if he could. Get an early start.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, the rain bucketed down in sheets.

Willow deemed rain “okay” as long as he wasn’t in it. There was no reason for water to just fall out of the sky like that. Half-forgotten childhood science lessons struggled up at him, something about a water circle, trees, lakes… like hell he was going out today in this wet.

The cat meowed at him, and Willow found some meat close to going off for it. The cat seemed fine with it and butted its head against him. Willow awkwardly petted it. He wasn’t used to animals just… being friendly like this. Most of them just tried to kill him on sight. Maybe it just wanted him to give it more food.

Willow explored the cube, which didn’t seem a good name for it, because it was way bigger and less square than a cube in the Vault, but he knew no other word for it. One room had belonged to a kid – a whole room! – and Willow poked around for a while looking at the toys and books, what could be scrapped for parts or sold.

Then he remembered that journal Mo wanted him to keep, and figured he’d better do that today too. The kid had left behind some more stickers and other kid stuff.

_09 MAR still here. Raining. Too much rain to risk crossing. Cant see anything. In this place the Cat is back. Gave it some old meat & it seems happy. There is also here some comics and looks like a kid here liked Mr Pebbles. There’s coloring books and stickers and even a backpack._

Willow absolutely was taking the backpack. It was like nothing he’d seen before, and carried a fair amount.

The cat followed him and climbed into his lap while he wasn’t writing. It couldn’t be the original cat. Cats didn’t live that long. Right? But this one wasn’t afraid of people. Maybe it had an owner. Maybe that owner was just away right now.

Maybe the owner wouldn’t be happy about Willow coming into the place.

Willow doodled some buildings, a raincloud and a dead car on the next page. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of time, until the rain stopped.

The cat felt warm on his lap and, Willow guessed, it was purring, which was an interesting sound.

_Should I take the cat. It may be long to someone? Would I have to carry it? Or would it be like in a holotape and follow me around._

Actually, all he had to do was just leave and see if the cat followed him, right? Did cats eat chickens?

Willow dumped the cat off his lap and browsed through the kid’s bookshelf and then the bookshelves in the other room. A couple of Grognak books, not comic books, but that was fine, they’d still sell. Not much he could do with the rest; they looked boring, and he wasn’t sure if a “poetry anthology” would sell at all. Better to leave it; books were heavy, so they had to be worth the weight.

“You got a name?” Willow asked the cat, as it stayed close to him. “Or are you just hungry again?”

The cat looked up at him. Willow couldn’t tell if there were any thoughts going on in its head.

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

~ ~ ~

_Still raining. Why. At least I am indoors._

Willow felt so sleepy, which was ridiculous, he hadn’t even done anything all day. The Pipboy said it was only a little past noon. Maybe he should try to sleep, since he wasn’t going anywhere.

~ ~ ~

_Dreamed of the Vault. We were inside. Beckett too. Water started flooding the lower levels. Had to keep going higher. The Overseer said we had to go Outside. But when the big door opened more water came in & we all drowned._

The cat butted its head against Willow’s chin as he lay on his back, and he petted it. It liked that. “This place is safe, huh?” he asked the cat. Shit, why hadn’t he thought of it before? This wouldn’t be too bad to live in, would it? If they needed somewhere else, and if the cat’s owner was actually gone. It was up high, there were real beds, real furniture. Good views.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, the cat meowed at him nonstop when Willow left, until he finally went back up the stairs to pick it up. “Can’t you walk?” he complained to it, but it climbed up his arm and took up position on his shoulders, in front of his rucksack. “Okay, but if there’s shooting, be careful.” It meowed again.

Willow stopped outside the front of the building and noted the name of it. Charleston Place. Okay, this journal finally had a reason, not just because Mo wanted him to do this. He’d write stuff down here and then he could look it up later.

Willow found a nearby sign reading _DUNDAS St_. Another good landmark. Then he put the journal away. It was a little weird having the cat on his shoulders, but not bad-weird.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked the cat. It didn’t answer. “Okay then. We’re going home. But if you attack my chickens, it’s over for you,” Willow said, as he started walking down Dundas Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter was written for Fluffy February prompt #8, "Hiding from a storm".


	5. Photos and Floaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death balloons and the ability to print pictures.

__

_10 MAR 2013 – the pipboy can print things! There is a tiny roll of paper in here. I have to find more. I used most of it up practicing. But I got it to print this picture of Mo._

That had been the most exciting discover in days, weeks maybe. They hadn’t used Pipboys in the Vault, of course; they’d printed them on, well, printers. The Pipboy could take pictures, which required some getting used to, when it was on your arm, but Willow had figured that out early on. The ability to actually print them, though? Now _that_ was cool.

But, he suddenly remembered, it probably needed ink. Right? The Pipboys were new when everyone left the Vault, so the ink there should still be fresh and a lot of it. But eventually it would run out.

That was a sobering thought, since he’d burned the roll practicing. On the other hand, now he had a picture of MODUS to stick into this journal.

Willow tilted the page. He’d written MO↓ but turned the other way, it looked like it read ↓OW. Which was kind of funny.

~ ~ ~

 _Cat and I are at an old diner tonight,_ Willow wrote, and drew an arrow pointing at the business card advertisement he’d stuck to the page, advertising coffee and donuts. $30. Willow didn’t know if that was a lot or not. _Don’t know why a cat wants to follow me but o.k_.

Probably it was just after food, but Willow decided it was okay as a traveling companion, though not being able to talk was a downer. What he wouldn’t give for one of those holotape animals that understood human speech.

Meanwhile, the cat walked near him, or wandered off sometimes, but always came back, and sometimes it would jump and try to get on his shoulders. After the first attempt at this led to a lot of cursing and a scratched arm, Willow would snap his fingers and lower his arm so the cat could run up it instead, if it wanted to.

Now they had this old diner for shelter, and someone had done that before them, leaving behind a sleeping bag and some other stuff. _No donuts at this place tho. Too bad. Or coffee. Did find some Nuka!! So it wasnt all bad._

Willow doodled an exploding death balloon. _~~Weird~~ wierd floating death balloons today. Had to use a stim pack. Cat was out of the way. Cant aford to use stims much but this one burned pretty bad._

Willow couldn’t figure out the spelling on that first word. They both looked wrong.

Okay, if pressed, he’d probably say that the journal thing wasn’t all bad. Now he tried to think of something notable to write in it, though, honestly, just walking didn’t mean there was a lot to note. Which was a good thing. Quiet walks down empty roads were much safer. He still kept an eye on the woods, though. He’d seen the death balloon too late to avoid it, and after shooting it, it exploded all over him and burned like living hell. No more of that if he could avoid it.

_I think I know where I am? Its hard to get the right directions from the Pipboy into my head. And streets and roads arent straight._

This too was a problem. Willow still wanted to think that “up”, or the top of the Pipboy screen, was the direction in front of him. But it often wasn’t, and he had try to remember what the screen map said to what was actually around him. By comparison, he’d learned his way around MODUS’ Vault pretty fast. Vault navigation was easy.

Maybe after this whole thing, this journal, was full up, he’d take it back to Mo who’d then say oh yes, of course you can stay here, and that would be that. He’d have to get Beckett on board, though. Willow didn’t see what Mo got out of it, but that wasn’t really his problem either.

The cat returned, licking its mouth, and sat down to lick down its own legs. Willow had the vague knowledge that that was how animals kept clean, but that was the most disgusting way of doing it that he could think. Wouldn’t all that dirt and hair end up in your mouth?

_Cat found something to eat I guess. I had the Nukas and 2 cans of cram. Can opener broke. So I have to find another one._

The light was going, outside, and Willow didn’t want to attract attention with a fire or a lantern, so he closed the journal and packed everything up, just in case he had to make a quick exit in the middle of the night. “Hey,” he said to the cat.

It looked up at him, one paw in the air.

“I’m going to bed,” Willow said. “You don’t understand a word I say, do you?”

The cat watched him expectantly.

Willow settled himself and shut off his pipboy light. After a minute or so, he could feel the cat curl up against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork of MODUS is by [@tenebrare](https://tenebrare.tumblr.com/) and is used with permission.


	6. Treed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bears are horrible.

_12 Mar 2103 Met a super mutant today that didnt try to kill me. We traded. Cat doesnt like SMs. This one ignored Cat tho. Had a brahmin which is good for travel if you trade but not good for me I guess. Tried to get directions but no luck. Have to just keep following the roads. Roads lead to towns & once I find a town I’ll know where I am. Cat and I_

Thank God the bear roared as it entered the tiny campsite. Willow dropped everything and got up a tree as fast as he could. Cat was hanging onto Willow’s shoulders, claws dug in, and Willow got as high as he could before stopping to look down.

Bears were huge. They were ugly. They were vicious. They were nothing at all like the chubby friendly cartoon bears Willow knew from the Vault. Real bears had giant sharp teeth and claws, and Willow clung to the tree trunk, hoping it was solid enough that the deep gouges the bear was making in it wouldn’t cause it to fall over.

The bear’s small crazy eyes looked up the tree. Willow didn’t know if it could see them, but probably it could smell them, because weren’t animals supposed to have a great sense of smell?

His hands slipped on the bark, and he scrambled to get a better hold. The tree shook as the bear attacked it again.

Cat left Willow’s shoulders for a higher branch. _Good idea, Cat,_ Willow thought, and pulled himself up to where he could at least sit on the branch instead of clinging to the trunk.

Willow didn’t know if he wanted the bear to find his pack and the food in it, and maybe it would leave him alone, or if that would result in all his stuff getting ruined. At least he seemed to be – shit, that bear just wouldn’t quit pushing at the tree.

“Go eat a feral!” Willow yelled down at it. The bear roared back, and Willow shrank against the tree. Those teeth were huge, even if they were currently out of reach.

The bear was there for hours – Willow checked against his Pipboy – and Willow’s shoulders reminded him that a cat had recently dug in its claws to escape the monster below, and that put him in a worse mood. It wasn’t Cat’s fault, though; Cat was just a chicken nugget to a bear.

(Chicken nuggets. Willow had been indifferent to them once he’d become a teenager, but now he’d never have those again either, not until he got back into a Vault. Wait, they’d need chickens in the Vault to do that. Well, he had chickens, probably he could figure out how to turn extra chickens into nuggets somehow.)

At last the bear finally gave up and went away. Willow stayed in the tree, watching it leave, and kept an eye on the area for thirty minutes after that, in case it decided what the hell, let’s see if the guy with the cat came back down the tree.

His rucksack bore some damage from the bear briefly tossing it around, but overall everything was still safe. Willow grabbed the few things he’d had out for the midday camp – the journal, the still-unopened bottle of cola – put some healing goop on his neck and shoulders, and reluctantly put his shirt and armor over that. This was going to get all irritated and maybe infected, he thought glumly. Well, on to the next place.

~ ~ ~

_I lost a pen be cause a bear found us and we had to run and climb a tree. We were up there for hours. I f*in hate bears._

Willow didn’t have any problem verbally cursing, but periodic smacks on the hand for even daring to write the word while in the Vault kept him automatically censoring that one.

_Cat scratched my neck bad but getting away from the bear. F*in hate bears. Mo when you read this please send robots to kill the bears._

~ ~ ~

Willow’s neck and shoulders felt hot and angry the next morning, and he reluctantly decided he couldn’t wear the shoulder pieces at the very least; nor the chest piece of armor that required straps over the shoulders. “You did a number on me,” he said to Cat, who looked at him expectantly. “C’mon, let’s investigate this place.”

They’d stopped in what had probably been a very small town, or maybe a village or a roadside stand; nature was reclaiming it, and only a store and a shed remained. Willow and Cat had stayed in the shed, as it had fewer entrances to defend, but now in morning light, it was time to scavenge. Maybe there was a street sign pointing which way or something.

The store had been picked over long, long ago. Not even old bones remained. Willow did find an organized packet of cloth scraps in a brittle brown envelope, and took those, because they looked interesting, discarding the envelope and the document around them.

There was a safe, which looked like someone had gotten into it over the years, but left behind some very old bubblegum and a small intact piece of knitted clothing that Willow didn’t recognize at first.

~ ~ ~

 _Some cloth scraps I found in an old store,_ Willow wrote, putting the scraps into the handmade envelope on that page. _All the full clothes were gone tho so nothing to wear. I found a little sweater thing for Cat tho. Maybe it will help? (Safe)_

It wasn’t cold enough for a sweater, Willow thought, but if Cat was still around come winter, it could be useful. As they left the looted store, he hoped he’d find some indicator where he was soon.


End file.
